Sweet Demon of Mine
by LeeT911
Summary: Kirika is troubled by a nightmare, but her worries run deeper, as Mireille discovers. shoujoai


Sweet Demon of Mine

_Noir_ fanfiction by LeeT911  (LeeT911@hotmail.com)

* * *

_The dream came unbidden, as always._

_It was dark.  The darkness itself swallowed everything.  Kirika could feel the wind whipping through her hair, and it seemed as though she was standing on a tiny platform, with only emptiness around her.  Her hand clutched a small card, the hard plastic digging into her palm.  She knew what it was without looking._

_The sun rose suddenly, a great orange fireball driving through the sky impossibly fast.  The darkness split just as quickly, revealing a sprawling metropolis below Kirika.  She stood atop a gigantic skyscraper, a building so large it dwarfed every other in the area.  At the very top, the skyscraper narrowed to almost a point, and Kirika's feet rested on a platform only a few inches across._

_She was not afraid for some reason.  Despite the strong winds threatening to throw her off her precarious perch, Kirika was not scared.  It might have been because she knew it was not real.  Somewhere, in the back of her consciousness, her mind understood this was only a dream.  A dream she had experienced several times in the last few weeks.  Nevertheless, this understanding did not give her the ability to end it._

_As usual, the sun came to a stop directly overhead, blinding Kirika with its intense rays.  She squinted her eyes, tried to bring an arm over to shield them.  As she did so, the wind picked up, wrenching her student card from her hand.  Time paused for a moment as the card slipped from her, the sunlight perfectly accenting the grainy picture and the name beside it.  Kirika gasped soundlessly, reached out to retrieve what was hers, but gravity took over, mercilessly sucking her identity down into the void below.  Frantic, Kirika leaned forward, knowing full well what was about to happen._

_She overbalanced as she made a swipe at the card, and her foot stepped forward into nothingness.  The tumble did not come as a surprise._

_Kirika's__ fall began several hundred stories up.  She did not scream.  The air rushed around her as she fell, but the sound seemed strangely muted.  As the ground below came into view, she could make out cars driving along the road._

_"I'm going to die."_

_The thought didn't bother her.  Not this time.  It was only a dream after all._

_Her head was the first to reach the ground.  There was no sickening crunch, no splatter of blood, no shock of impact.  Instead, she fell through the ground, passing through the road as if it were only an illusion.  And as she fell through, the darkness returned, engulfing the world.  Then, there was only oblivion... sweet oblivion._

* * *

I can see Kirika dreaming beside me.  She's lying there asleep, but her face is twitching, her head moving slightly.  She's been dreaming a lot lately, I've noticed.  I don't know why, but I don't think they are very pleasant dreams.  She doesn't tell me about it, and when I ask she just gives non-committal answers.  But now, as she sleeps, I can see that she cringes every so often, as if she is afraid of something.  It seems strange to me.  I can't remember ever seeing her cringe.  She's sweating as well.  That's another thing I don't recall ever seeing her do, yet in the faint moonlight, I can make out the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

The covers on her end of the bed have been kicked off, the mess having somehow ended up tangled between my legs.  Kirika is normally very subdued in her slumber. She is generally very good at keeping to her side of the bed.  At least we're not both like that.  I tend to range around in my sleep.  It gives me an excuse.  Sometimes I wake on her half of the bed, pressed up against her.  She never complains about it.  Sometimes I can almost believe she enjoys it as much as I do.

Looking at her now, I want to slide over and put my arms around her.  I want to make the bad dreams go away.  I want her to rest peacefully.  Her life has already been one long nightmare, sleep should provide some escape.  But it seems the Fates are gifted with a wicked sense of irony.

Kirika's arm spasms out suddenly, momentarily catching on my nightshirt.  I shudder involuntarily as her hand brushes my side, partly because of her touch, but also partly because of the cold.  Her fingers are frigid.  I can feel the coolness even through my shirt.  Just as quickly, Kirika withdraws her arm, still caught in the throes of the dream.

As her hand begins to snake away, I place my own over it, following it back to her side.  I wonder if she can feel this, even through her slumber.  I wonder what she'll think if she wakes up now and finds me holding her hand.  I'll say "you were having a nightmare", and she'll nod, but I wonder if she'll really understand.

Kirika kicks her legs again, starts to turn away, but I squeeze her hand gently and she rolls to face me instead.  Maybe the dream has ended, her eyes don't seem to be twitching anymore.  Unfortunately for me, her movement has trapped my hand beneath her.  I can feel the warm weight of her thin body pressing against my arm. Perhaps my predicament is less than unfortunate...

I don't know how long I stayed like that, staring into Kirika's face and watching her sleep, counting her rhythmic breaths.  Eventually though, she shifts enough so that I can retract my hand.  Reluctantly, I trace my fingers up the smooth skin of her arm, longingly exploring up to her bare shoulder.

Her eyes flutter, and for a moment, I'm afraid she will wake.  My hand jerks away, returning to my side of the bed.  I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep, but Kirika does not stir.  After a few minutes of silence, I let one eye creak open.  Kirika has curled herself into a ball, her knees almost up to her pillow.  Maybe she's cold.  Carefully, I straighten out the covers, drape them over her.  She sighs and snuggles deeper into her pillow.

Content that my partner is comfortable, I lie back and try to get some rest.

* * *

Kirika blinks her eyes open.  It is dark.  The blackness presses in around her, hemming her in.  For a moment, she thinks that she is still asleep, that the dream has repeated itself, but the digital alarm clock nearby shows otherwise.  It is nearly three in the morning.

Slowly, Kirika releases her breath, closing her eyes again in hopes of banishing the nightmare.  Why?  Why did she keep having this dream?  Why did she keep waking during the night with the same feeling of dread and loneliness?

She didn't understand.  Kirika was not a person who was frightened easily, yet this dream continually haunted her.  In the last few weeks, the sensation of falling had repeatedly drawn her out of slumber.  She would wake with a sudden start, sometimes at dawn, sometimes during deepest night, and for a fleeting moment, she would feel nothing but emptiness beneath her.

A quick glance at Mireille reassures her.  The blonde is sleeping peacefully, her back turned towards her partner.  Gingerly, Kirika slides out of bed, rearranging the covers so that Mireille won't be cold.  She shivers as she stands, the cool air in the apartment running over her bare legs.  Silently, she pads over to the window, drawn by the bright half-moon shining in the sky.  It is even colder by the window, and Kirika wraps her arms tightly around herself.

On the street below, the world has come to a stop.  There are no cars passing by, no pedestrians hurrying home, not even a stray animal huddling in the light of streetlamp.  The sky is somewhat less dreary, but not filled with life either.  A thin layer of clouds blocks out all but the moon and the brightest stars.

Kirika's eyes wander over the few visible stars.  Mireille had named some of them for her at one point, but Kirika cannot identify any of the bright points she can sees.  She doesn't know if the stars Mireille had pointed out are visible at this time of night, or even at this time of year.  Perhaps it is the wrong season for stargazing.

Kirika's sighs, remembering the night she had spent with Mireille, camped out in the French countryside.

* * *

_"Actually, that bright one there is Jupiter, and next to it over there, that's Saturn.  This constellation is called Orion, the hunter, you can recognize it by the three stars in a line right there."_

_"Why do you know so much about the stars, Mireille?"  Kirika looked over at Mireille as she asked._

_"Nighttime is the time for assassins."  Mireille turned to face Kirika.  Her features softened as her eyes fell on the younger girl.  There was even a faint hint of a smile.  "But really, it's beautiful out here, I just like looking at the stars."_

_"That one there is moving."_

_Mireille's__ eyes followed Kirika's pointing finger.  "A shooting star!  Make a wish."_

_"Why?"_

_"They say if you make a wish when you see a shooting star it will come true.  So make a wish."_

_"Mmm."___

_"That's it?  What did you wish for?"_

_"Happiness."___

_"Me too."___

_"Aren't you happy, Mireille?"  Kirika blushed and looked away as she felt the blonde's penetrating gaze on her._

_"Yes, but I think I could be happier."_

* * *

I'm awakened by a sneeze.  Not my own.  Kirika is standing by the window, staring outwards, wearing nothing but those light clothes she sleeps in.  I see the slouch in her stance, the tilt in her head, signs that her thoughts are not really focused on whatever's outside.

It's not the first time she's done this.  In fact, she often gets up in the middle of the night to sit by the window.  Maybe it calms her.  Maybe it gives her a way to organize her thoughts.  I wonder what she thinks about.  I never ask, mostly because I don't think I'll get a truthful answer.

She straightens slightly, starts to turn around.  I close my eyes.  Better not to let her know I'm watching her.

* * *

For Kirika, the feel of Mireille's eyes on her back is almost a tangible sensation.  The girl pivots to regard her partner, but the form on the bed is lying asleep.  "Feigning sleep," She corrects herself.

Kirika rubs her arms for warmth as she makes her way back to the bed.  Mireille is not sleeping.  She has spent enough time observing the blonde to know.  There are subtle hints.  The way Mireille's head is leaning forward, in a position that is not naturally comfortable.  Her legs are stacked together, in a way she never sleeps.  The pace of her breathing is too rhythmic, even for sleep.  Mireille is controlling her breathing.  But even without any of these clues, without looking from this close, Kirika can tell.  She had been able to deduce it from her vantage point at the window.  She had known, even before she had turned around.  It was as though she was linked to her partner somehow, bound by something she did not fully understand.

"We are _Noir_."  Kirika tells herself silently, but the thought is not comforting at all.  She can't shake the feeling of loneliness the dream has washed over her.  Slowly, she sits down on the bed, managing to settle in without making any noise.  As she pulls the covers around herself, she spares a glance at Mireille.

The blonde hasn't moved.  She is still lying there, pretending.  Kirika has a sudden urge to reach out and touch her, but she stifles it.  Instead, she draws her knees up to her chin and hugs herself.  Twice, her mouth opens, as though she means to say something, but both times she closes it again just as quickly.  Her lips are suddenly very dry.  Kirika sighs, her thoughts having drifted to the past.

She remembers the promise she made to watch over Mireille.  She remembers the fires of Hell burning beneath her as Mireille begged her to take one more chance at life.  She wishes it could have been different.  She wishes it didn't have to be this way.  She wishes it didn't have to be so complicated.  Maybe, if she had been just another girl instead of a murderer, it wouldn't be so wrong for her to love Mireille.  Maybe, if hadn't been for Soldats' meddling in her life, she would know what to do now, what to say.  But she knows, deep down inside, that if it hadn't been for all these things, she would probably never have met Mireille Bouquet.  Kirika sighs again, and the sound seems loud in the stillness of the night.

Mireille remains prone, immobile, unfeeling.  Kirika fights the need to scream.

* * *

I hear her sigh, and again.  Then, the mattress shifts as Kirika tenses.  I wish I knew what was bothering her.  It's not something as simple as a bad dream.  I think her despair runs deeper.  Perhaps the nightmare triggered this bout of depression, but there is something else that worries her.  Part of me wants to get up and talk to her, comfort her, but I don't know how much I can really accomplish.  I'm afraid I won't be able to help.  I'm afraid she won't let me help her.

There's a sudden jerk as Kirika kicks off the covers, and my eyes flash open.  I almost roll over and confront her, but for some reason I hold back.  Every time I see her downcast, I can feel my throat well up, I can feel my heart melting.  Sometimes I catch her, sitting by the window, with tears rolling down her face.  I curse myself for not having the courage to speak up.  And then I hate myself for not paying more attention to this girl.  I hate myself for being so reticent about my feelings for her.  I sit up slowly, determined not to let this go.

Kirika is sitting with her back to me, hunched over so that her hair falls forward.  Even though she makes no noise and I cannot see her face, I can tell she is crying.  She trembles, ever so slightly.  Her hands are clutching something to her chest.  She seems so delicate, crying there silently.  She seems so frail and weak.  It pains me to think that she believes she has to hide this weakness from me.  Even assassins can cry.  And if Death itself feels sorrow, then perhaps there is hope yet for this world.

Without another thought I slide over behind her, drape one arm over her shoulders, wrap the other around her waist, pull her tightly against me.  She shudders as my arms encircle her, but she melts willingly into my embrace.  I can feel the wetness on her clothes now, I can hear her sniffling.  I can see her gripping her student card so tightly her hands are shaking.

"Kirika,  what's wrong?"  I whisper.

She doesn't answer me, only squeezes her eyes shut and tilts her head back so that it rests on my shoulder.  Her hair falls away, and I can see teary streaks glistening on her face.  Gently, I stroke her bare arm, surprised at how cool her skin actually feels.  She shivers again under my fingers.

* * *

Kirika closes her eyes, lets herself fall back against Mireille.  The touch on her shoulder gradually becomes a caress.  The warmth surrounding her spawns another within.  Unable to help herself, Kirika snuggles further, reluctant to speak.

"What's wrong?"  Mireille asks again when no answer is forthcoming, her voice soft and not slurred from sleep.  "Why are you crying?"

Slowly, Kirika blinks away the tears, dares to open her eyes.  Mireille's face appears, her expression tinged with genuine worry.  "Why do you care?"  The dark-haired girl retorts, twisting away from Mireille.

"Because you're my partner."

Kirika looks down at the student card she is still holding against her chest.  She pulls her hand away, carefully inspects the picture for the umpteenth time, rereading the lie written beside it.  In a sudden fit of rage, she flings it across the room.  Somewhere off in the darkness, the card clatters to the floor.

* * *

"Because you're my friend."  I say this time, emphasizing my words by taking her shoulders and turning her back around to face me.

She stares at me, her eyes searching mine for any hint of deceit.  I try to pour affection out through my eyes.  I try to tell her with a look that I care for her more than all the world.  I don't know if I can.  Have I been an assassin so long that I don't know how to show kindness?  I wish I could tell her.  I wish I could tell her how much I love her.  The past be damned, Soldats be damned, but I can't.  I can't bear to be the one to take this last bit of innocence from her.  Instead, I meet her gaze, I don't look away.

"Who am I?"  She finally asks after several minutes.

"Kirika Yuumura."  I say without hesitation.

"No, Mireille.  Who am I to you?"

"You're the friend who stood by me when I went to unearth the secrets of the past.  You're the lonely girl who showed me there's more to life than killing, even for a professional assassin.  We may be darkness incarnate, but so what?  Let the world fear us; we have nothing to fear from each other."

"And the demon of your past?"  Her voice sounds so very small.

"Sweet demon of mine," I whisper as I enfold her in my arms again, "I don't care about the past."

* * *

Kirika feels the wetness run down her cheeks again as Mireille breathes the words into her ear.  Tentatively, her arms snake their way around Mireille's body.  It feels good to be here, to be held by someone who cares, someone who truly wants nothing but the best for her.  Kirika presses herself up against the blonde, letting her eyes drift closed.

She squeezes, gently and first, and then more forcibly, crushing Mireille's body against her own.  The tears haven't stopped, but this time, she doesn't mind them.  For a fleeting moment, she worries that she will wet Mireille's nightshirt, but the thought disappears as she feels her partner hug back.

They cuddle together for a long while, and when they finally break apart, both of them look away, embarrassed at having lingered so long.

"Get some sleep."  Mireille whispers, settling back underneath the covers.

Kirika nods, rearranges the sheets, and pushes herself far closer to Mireille than usual.  She sighs, feeling the warmth of another person wash over her.

* * *

I sleep facing Kirika.  I usually don't, afraid that I'll give something away, but this night, I want to see her.  I want to watch her fall asleep.

Those enchanting rust-coloured eyes of her are closed now, but just a minute ago they were open, full of softness and kindness.  Her small nose and thin lips give her a delicate look, one that is misleading, yet I find it strangely wonderful to behold.  I can see her lips quivering as she breathes in her sleep.  I watch her shift slightly, into a more comfortable position, and a stray lock of hair falls over her face.  Careful not to disturb her, I brush it away so I can continue to admire her.

At rest, her features are almost angelic, irreconcilable with those of my family's murderer.  I try to tell myself that it was not her doing, not her fault.  Part of me truly wants to believe that.  I think part of me already accepts it.  I am in love with this girl.  Maybe I shouldn't be, but I can't help what I feel.  It is twisted path that I walk, one that is filled with darkness, but I look for the light.  And I dare to think that I have found it.

Shrouded in the deepest night, I look upon the face of Death...  And she smiles at me.

* * *

END


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